Coincidental
by archer hates you
Summary: Misaki and November 11 have something in common.


A/N: I realize that arguing over terminology between English dialects is a little absurd seeing as the series is Japanese. But we're going to pretend.

* * *

There wasn't really a reason they'd been left alone. It had been something of a slow news day, and the others had already gone home. But given her position, she had been fooled into all the end-of-day chores. And being the annoyance he was, he had stuck around as well.

They'd been left alone several times already. It never made her uneasy—she knew she could handle herself, and he always seemed so _sincere_ in his honesty—but she was constantly on her guard. Which was probably best. No matter his allegiances, she wasn't sure that one was ever totally safe around any Contractor, anywhere—not even a cop at police headquarters. They'd all been told to keep an eye on him and his team. But as it was, she felt that task was rather like babysitting an unruly teenager: utterly futile.

He hovered around her (though it felt more like casual lurking) as she finished up reviewing the day's reports. He seemed to be doing it half out of mild curiosity, half because it might irk her. And that it did. He even seemed anxious to some degree, like that unruly teen was waiting for class to end. Though 'anxious' on him was manifested simply as faster eye movements.

"What's got you so on edge?"

He blinked inquisitively. "I'm not on edge."

"Just because you're a Contractor doesn't make it impossible."

"I didn't say that."

Right.

"Misaki."

She filed away the last of the sheets. "Hm."

And then he was kissing her.

When he wasn't, she watched his face, hesitant. "I don't follow."

He removed her glasses with the delicacy of a hush and placed them on a nearby surface. "Small steps. I shall lead," he said, resuming his work.

He had taken her little waist between his hands and set her down on a desk—Saito's, to be exact—and hopped up to sit next to her. "You seem to have some sort of plan," she observed as he kissed his way down her neck.

"Feel free to do away with the kirby grips, as well."

"Come again?"

"Apologies—barrettes, that is."

"I'd call them bobby pins, actually."

"Curious."

He sat back and took to moving her about, laying her back among stacks of paperwork and arranging her hair away from her face. He observed from his upright vantage; she peered at him with a mild squint. It was an odd thing, a man in a suit straddling a woman in a suit. Thus, he began to diminish the amount of suit. She allowed him free reign as he stripped away jackets, but she became more apprehensive once he reached the more interesting bits.

"This is all very flattering." She had to pause when his hot hand found the space below her belly button. She continued, "However—" but his hand hadn't stopped. "Exactly how far will you be going?" she inquired.

"As far possible, without being struck." And then with some thought, "Perhaps further."

Again he kissed her, and somehow her fingers ended up threaded through his hair.

"See now," he cooed, "I do believe you enjoyed that."

"It's difficult to resist when you're good at it."

"Why thank you."

"I meant me." His eyes went flat with displeasure. She kept from smiling just long enough to say, "That was a joke."

He continued on his way down the line of her body. "Aren't you curious to know what it's like?" he murmured, just as the last button on her clothes was undone. "To sleep with a Contractor."

She tugged out the remaining hem of her shirt herself. "I must say, I have wondered."

"Do help with my belt, if you wouldn't mind."

Soon their clothing as a whole was rather sparse. She appreciated his modesty in leaving his open shirt hanging over his back, covering her like a curtain, and that she was allowed to keep her bra.

"Have you wondered about one Contractor in particular?"

In fact he seemed to enjoy working around it, sliding his hands along the inside of the elastic, under the wire, over the skin of her back and her breasts. "I have."

"Was that Contractor me?"

She was silent long enough that even he would be pained by the suspense.

"No."

He retaliated accordingly.

However she had suspected that her punishment for such a slight would be his first rough thrust, and as she had been waiting for it, it didn't elicit quite the response he'd been after. A gasp, a moan, a low scream, perhaps. No. He'd have to work for that.

Soon he started into a rhythm that was likely to earn the reaction he had desired, eventually—far less mechanical than one might expect from his kind. Deep and even and slow to the point of infuriation—but staggered, so she never quite knew when he would take a maddening pause before continuing.

"Now," he said, situated. "I must know who this man is."

Saito's paperwork was becoming irritating against her bare back. She hoped none of it would crease. She'd hate to have to explain that. "I'm afraid that wouldn't be best." Still, she didn't have the focus to do anything about the offending desk materials. November 11 really was rather good at this.

"Ah." He nipped at the hollow of her neck. "So I know him."

"That's not quite what I said."

"All the same. Are you thinking of him now?"

She considered November's weighty hips pressing into her own, his smooth pace, his incredible instincts, before deciding. "I am."

He gripped her shoulders with something like aggression. Bit of a temper, that one. "You know you simply must tell me."

"I couldn't."

"Don't make me freeze it out of you."

"You might appreciate a smoke after sex."

"Cheeky." He pinched at her hips, making her squirm. She was starting to lose it. "Be careful what you wish for. I trust you've heard the statistics on secondhand smoke."

"Several times."

"I won't ask again."

She left it as a breath against his shoulder, too far gone out her mind for anything sultrier: "BK-201."

He buried his face in her neck and hummed. "What a coincidence."


End file.
